Terms For Survival by John Reeves (the best e book reader .TXT) 📖

was a classic case of second guessing. Without them his odds of survival became zero. John began telling himself that he wouldn't go easy, and that he'd force them to kill him to spare the torture. Nobody was tracking him, but he knew that could change quickly. There could be a group anywhere in the area. Just hiding and observing him.
Was going back to Harold's house a good Idea? What if he couldn't find it? There had to be someone tracking him. John saw no way the area could be clear of a group. His mind began playing tricks on him. He thought he heard the sounds of feet moving in the brush. There was nobody following him, and there wasn't anyone in the woods beside him. John knew there was nobody there, but he couldn't convince the voices in his mind of that, so he wasn't completely sure that someone wasn't there.

John walked up and down the side of the river, he was looking for his friends, Harold's house, or anything he could find. After nine days alone there had been no discovery of anything. The groups he thought would be working the river were not there. He began to think about staying. Harold had created a nice spot, and was able to do so because nobody populated the area. Somewhere in the deepest thought that night, he decided that he was going to stay there. At least for a little while.
He didn't admit it to himself, but he was staying there for the same reason he'd stayed so long in Hendersonville. He hoped to see his friends again, just the way he hoped to see his family again for all those years. The boldly honest part of him said, they will never be back, but there was hope in his heart. There were human feelings that John could not turn off. Things that have been bread into humanity since the beginning of time. Other feelings that he held within were changing.
John found himself thinking less about his lost friends, and more about what he was going to do. Everyday he would work on building his place. He took lumber from the deserted village to build his own. With flat pieces of ply-wood he made a sled to pull lumber to his desired spot in the woods. John began to build an elaborate house. It was connected to a large oak tree, and he built it like a watch tower.
From inside the living quarters at the bottom, he could flip the roof back, and then exit up a ladder to a section built in the top of the tree. The way it was built into the hillside allowed him to see for miles. It took a long time to complete the work, and it had been a year since he'd arrived there, although he knew nothing about time. Everyday was like the last one. The sun came up, and the sun went down. Sometimes it was hot, and sometimes it was cold. He'd almost forgotten what the old world was like.
Even if John had been able to find Harold's house, the old man didn't live another month after they left. Nobody found him, and he wasn't killed. The old man's body just gave out on him. Harold died there in his chair in the front room. His body decomposed fast in the summer heat. The animals were unable to get inside his house, and if John had found him, he'd have either found a rotting corpse or bones scattered about the chair. It wouldn't have been a shocking incident, because the guy was very old in terms of the hostile world he lived in.



7

There had been a time when John wasn't violent. Being alone with nothing but what he built made him different in many ways. It exposed parts of him that he didn't know existed. He'd become willing to die, and he would kill anyone who tried to infiltrate his zone. John had cut out his place, but he knew it would not be impossible to find. He would kill someone, just like he did in the war. He wanted to kill someone. It needed to be proved to the voice that doubted him. Not everything in his mind was good.
John could easily see now how a group could turn to cannibalism, because there were savage thoughts constantly going through his mind. There were things missing in his life, and he knew not having someone to talk to made the voices stronger. He'd hardly call them imaginary friends, because they were absolutely not friendly. They knew what he was capable of, and they pushed him to limits he didn't enjoy going to. The pleasant thoughts were hidden in the past. The one place he didn't want to go.
There was a group that had been moving along the river, and John watched them pass by. They couldn't see him, however he'd climbed in the tower and saw then long before they got close. There was a voice in his head telling him to defend what is his. John knew trying to attack that group would only lead to death. He watched them carefully from the upper and lower levels of his hidden tower. They were just passing by, they're not after me, they don't know where I am, and I don't need to attack them.
"You are no warrior, I think you're afraid to defend yourself." The voice inside his head didn't only say, but used his mouth to speak aloud. There was another more comforting voice, though not as strong. "You're doing the right thing. Attacking them would be suicide."
John didn't want to hear neither voice, not the one that was challenging him, nor the one that was comforting him. He didn't want to hear them at all, and mostly because he knew they weren't real. The thoughts and voices came from a part of his mind that he tried to close off. It was something he tried to ignore. It was a demon of opportunity, and it took full advantage of his being alone.

There was one horse that had fallen behind the rest of the group. John grabbed his blade that he'd made himself. It was a long sharp lawnmower blade. He'd found it in the old barn behind Harold's place. He moved down into the clearing, but climbed up on a hanging limb beside the trail that followed the river. The part of him that wanted violence was about to get it. He planned on killing the straggler. It wasn't his fault, as they should have stayed with the group.
When the horse got in line with John, he jumped out of the tree, ripping the enemy from the horse. As he drew back the blade to cut the head off his victim, and suddenly stopped before dropping the decapitating blow. With the edge of the blade he pulled back the hood covering the head. He exposed dark long brown hair, and quickly realized the enemy was a female. He'd noticed that she hadn't weighed much when he took her off the horse, and suspected that it was probably a teenage soldier.
The horse had been spooked and bolted off down the path. Going with his original plan, the straggler would be dead, he'd have quickly retrieved the horse, and been off the path. The fact that his victim had been an attractive girl changed things. John allowed the horse to get away with a loaded shotgun on the saddle. However he took the girl back to his tower.
"Let me go, you low down mother fucker." She screamed violently at John.
"You shut your goddamn mouth." He shouted, then rared back as if he were going to slap her face.
"Who are you with?" He asked her.
"Fuck-off, you can kill me if you want to, but I'm not telling you nothing." The girl said, and John could see through her playing it tough. However he also knew what it was to be mentally done and willing to die.
"If you answer my questions, then I won't have to kill you." John told her softly. "Who are you with?"
"I've already to you that I'm not telling you nothing." She was again being defiant. Then John stood above her pressing the sharp blade against her throat.
"Now either you tell me who you're with, or I'm going to cut your fucking head off." John again spoke softly, but with intent to kill in every word. She could feel the blade against her neck, and wasn't sure that it wasn't cutting into her. Still she didn't break her silence. John removed the blade from her neck. He noticed she was crying, but also knew she was willing to die without speaking.
John took her to the top of the watch tower. She was tied to a 2x4 plank against the wall. Below he thought about what he'd done. Would they miss her and come back to find her? She was in the roll of a man, and he questioned why he didn't just kill her. She was a very beautiful girl. There was plenty of reason not to have killed her. He needed company around him, and she provided company that was aesthetically pleasing. She was a little bitch, but he knew she'd come around.
They were going to come back to try to find her, and John thought about fighting back or moving on. He'd even thought about letting the female go.
"What is your name?" John asked her on the second day, and she answered that question.
"My name is Lori." Her tone was still hateful.
"How did you fall behind the others?" She turned away, as if to say she wouldn't respond to that one. John was looking at her breast in the tight black shirt. She didn't have the best figure he'd ever seen on a woman, but she made up for it in looks, and she had an attitude to boot.

The group had come back to try to find her. They didn't know where they'd lost her, and they spread out to look for her. John had decided that he wasn't going to go anywhere. He'd built the place, he'd put the blood, sweat, and tears in it, therefore he wasn't going to be ran off. He'd watch for them to come back. He'd tell Lori what he was going to do to them, while sitting in the tower top where she was tied.
"I'm going to kill anyone who comes back here into my space. If you had of been who I thought you were, well you'd have been dead too." He explained to her.
"What? You didn't kill me because I was a girl?" She questioned him.
"No...I didn't kill you because you are a pretty girl. If you'd been ugly, then you'd be headless." He said, in a very calm manner.
"My man is the leader of the group, and he will not give up until he finds me. When he finds you, whether I'm dead or alive, I hope he cuts your fucking head off." She said, then she spit in his direction.
John left her tied in the tower when he spotted the first person coming back for her. He made his way down to the path, and when they came through he ambushed them the same way he'd done to Lori. This time it was not a woman, and he swung the blade splitting the enemy's head in half. Brains and blood poured out all over the ground. John drug the body over to the river, and used rocks to sink it. Quickly he